


Maybe You Know Me, Maybe You Don't

by doobler



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Playful Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:07:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doobler/pseuds/doobler
Summary: Sherlock and Stephen get to know each other a bit better





	Maybe You Know Me, Maybe You Don't

“So ah. Where should we start?”

Stephen looked around the bedroom, surprisingly pristine given the disaster that the living room was. Crisp sheets, clean floors, a faint lemon scented freshness. He sat on the edge of the mattress, hands folded in his lap with his chest entirely bare. Sherlock idled in front of the closet, pants off, silken dress shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his slender shoulders.

“Well not a handjob, surely.” The detective droned.

Stephen blinked, brow furrowing.

“You lack proper grip strength and have an acute numbness based on those scars,” Sherlock tilted his nose upward, silver-green eyes sharp and biting. “It'd be like fucking into the neck of a gutted fish.”

Something in Stephen snapped. His spine went stiff, air pulled sharply into his lungs. It'd taken him years to abandon those soft leather gloves, to bare his insecurities to the world. He shifted, tucking his hands under his thighs, and tried to regain his composure.

Sherlock watched him and felt a solid block of concrete sink into his gut. He gently closed the closet, rounding the bed and dropping to his knees.

“... Can I see them?” His voice was quiet. Stephen didn't even know he could speak below a commanding whine.

With reluctance in his gaze, the sorcerer pulled his hands from under him and held them out. They shook more than usual, fingers twitching a-rhythmically. Sherlock reached out slowly, tenderly, taking one in both of his. He let his eyes drag across every inch of pale skin, marred and twisted with those surgical scars.

“You were a doctor,” Sherlock began, avoiding the other man’s stare. “A surgeon at that. I'd say a neurosurgeon perhaps, based on your intellect and the exact way your hands seem to twitch. They're used to very fine motor skills in a small frame of space, i.e the brain. If you were a general surgeon, you'd need to have precise aim but on a larger scale. Clearly these hands are used to focusing on very minute details.”

Sherlock flipped his palm over, skirting a fingertip down Stephen's knuckles. The sorcerer inhaled sharply through his teeth. Though his nerves were shot and the feeling there quite muffled, watching someone caress his hands so delicately sent delicious licks of pleasure up and down his spine.

“You were in an accident, clearly, something you directly caused. Every time I've mentioned your hands, you have a slight twitch in your lower eyelids and the beginnings of a scowl. It isn't shame, it's disappointment. You feel very much responsible for your situation. What kind of accident? Well, given your implied wealth as a neurosurgeon, I'd at first say a plane crash but why would you need to be in a plane? Surgeons don't commute cross-country like that. No, it was probably a car accident, given the scars end around your wrists and your profession. You were driving and crashed, shrapnel from the windshield causing great damage to the point of needing extensive surgery.”

Sherlock swallowed thickly. He looked up, the faintest glimpse of a pink tongue flicking across his lower lip. He looked shockingly bashful, like a child just having shown off their class project.

“... How accurate was I?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Stephen huffed through his nose.

He laid his palm into the charcoal cloud of curls on Sherlock's head, threading his fingers through silky ringlets. The detective let his eyes flutter shut, leaning into the contact. There was something intimate about Sherlock's seemingly genuine concern. He didn't strike Stephen as the type to regret his choice of words. Opening his eyes, Sherlock let his voice grow low and bassy.

“I’ll happily blow you if you'd like.”

Stephen laughed, high and bright, his smile widening when Sherlock looked confused. With a finger under his chin, Stephen tilted his head further upwards.

“I'm not really into pity blowjobs.” Stephen crooned, mimicking the steep decline in octave.

“Neither am I.”

When the sorcerer leaned back, holding his weight up with his hands behind him, Sherlock nuzzled his way between his thighs. He unzipped Stephen's pants, hooking his fingers into the belt loops and tugging them down an inch.

“I'm a fan of having doctors in my mouth,” Sherlock smirked, feigning nonchalance as he catalogued the type of underwear before him. Briefs. Medium. Dark colors. “Plus there's an 80% chance you’ll be more open to suggestions in regard to position if I blow you first.”

Stephen let out another cackle, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. He watched smugly as Sherlock pulled out his semi-erect dick, stroking long thin fingers up and down the shaft.

“Are you always such a mouthy brat?” Stephen quirked his brow, his smile devilish.

“Not when I can't talk.”

The sorcerer went to speak, only to let out a strangled moan. Sherlock glanced upwards, his lips wrapped securely around the head of his cock. He repeated the motion, swirling his tongue around the tip and dragging it down the sensitive head.

“Ch-christ alive,” Stephen stammered, his grin wild, his breathing harsh. “You don't half-ass anything, huh?”

Sherlock shrugged. Apparently all the infamous detective needed to keep him quiet was a dick in his mouth.

Pressing his hands against Stephen's inner thighs, Sherlock eased his legs wider apart. Despite his innate flexibility, Stephen felt his muscles and bones creak under protest. A surge of arousal tingled up his tailbone. Being forced to expose himself like this, trapped in the folds of his pants and unable to snap his knees back together, made his heart pound. He thrusted up into the heat of Sherlock’s mouth, brimming with pride when the younger man gagged.

“I could very easily bite you.” Sherlock muttered.

“And I could dismantle your entire body, cell by cell, with a wink.” Stephen shot back.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide. His lower lip was cherry red already, slick with spit. Reaching forward, Stephen gripped the detective’s head between his trembling hands and eased him down his shaft. Sherlock took it in stride, swallowing every inch that curved into his mouth. He seemed to enjoy it already, a moan echoing through the chamber of his chest. 

“For a man with an ego the size of London,” Stephen breathed, watching his cock disappear past pretty bowed lips. “You sure seem to like being manhandled.”

Sherlock’s brow shot up before knitting tightly, his lower eyelids rising as he tried to scowl. He clearly wanted to fire off a retort, to defend his pride, but it all seemed rather pointless when the outline of his erection was so clear in his underwear and drool seemed to pool around the dick in his mouth. Instead, he simply adjusted his angle, dropping his jaw to better open his throat. Stephen beamed, patting his hair.

“ _ Good boy _ .”

Stephen held firm for a few moments, watching Sherlock settle to the sensation. He could feel a wicked tongue dancing along his shaft, the subtle flex of Sherlock’s throat around the head of his dick. It was all incredibly erotic. Pressing his palm to the detective’s forehead, he gradually pushed him back until his dick slipped free. Chills ran down his spine. There were few pictures prettier than his cock, flushed and shiny with saliva, propped up against the cheek of a man who shared his same face.

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, sarcasm dripping off the single syllable. 

“Are you blowing me or am I fucking you?” Stephen replied.

Sherlock made a show of thinking, looking everywhere else except Stephen's face. His breath came hot against the sorcerer’s wet shaft, making him shudder. With a wicked grin, Sherlock suddenly stood. He held Stephen’s legs hooked over his shoulders and kneeled against the edge of the mattress, nearly folding the sorcerer in half. Stephen's pale green eyes were wide, unblinking and dilated. He watched, powerless, as Sherlock gripped his thighs with two broad hands and pinned him in the wholly embarrassing position.

“I’ll definitely be fucking you, Dr.Strange.” Sherlock said with a voice like dark molasses.

Stephen pressed his head back against the sheets, his spine arching until it rose off the mattress. Sherlock mouthed at his inner thighs, nipping and licking at the terribly sensitive skin there. His lips traveled upwards, closing around one of his balls, slicking it with spit and sucking tenderly. Stephen’s eyes rolled back, his jaw dropping into his chest. A string of curses left his throat though none were in English.

“Fascinating,” Sherlock breathed, a sly grin spread across his face. “How flexible you are, both in body and in terms of dominance.”

“As if… You weren't just… Acting all submissive… Yourself…” Stephen huffed.

Sherlock hummed a laugh. He slipped a finger into his mouth, making sure it was properly wet before circling the tightness of Stephen’s entrance. The sorcerer yelped, the air punched from his lungs.

“Am I crossing a line?” Sherlock asked, his voice soft.

“You're crossing something alright,” Stephen retorted. “But no, you uh. This is fine. You're fine.”

The finger returned, applying light pressure in gentle figure eights. Stephen grit his teeth, eyes rolling back. It'd been a while since he was on the receiving end. The idea alone made his gut tie itself in knots, his heart hammering in his chest. He was excited.

Just then, Sherlock dragged the entirety of his tongue from Stephen’s heavy balls to the rim of his ass. The sorcerer groaned, loud and heavy, reaching above his head to claw at the bedsheets. The motion was repeated again and again until Stephen’s thighs trembled like jelly in an earthquake, nearly slipping off of slim boney shoulders. Sherlock didn't lighten his assault, pointing his tongue to press inside. His finger joined in, slowly fucking into Stephen. After being strung out so long, so slow, he felt ready to burst. The finger slid in deeper until it found that magic little bundle of nerves set deep inside. Stars and galaxies and fireworks exploded behind Stephen’s eyes as he came. 

Sherlock watched, a smug smile on his lips, as ribbons of pearlescent cum fell across the sorcerer's chest and stomach. He looked absolutely debauched, his hair wild, his lips parted as he struggled to regain his breath. Gingerly, Sherlock helped the older man recline back against the mattress and sat beside him, still wearing his open button up and cherry red briefs.

“Do you…?” Stephen gestured weakly at the obvious tent in Sherlock’s underwear.

“I can wait.”

Stephen swallowed audibly. 

_ There would be more. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated!  
> Come say hi over on Tumblr!


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